


The Gen-3 Blues

by masseylass



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Clothed Sex, Depression, F/M, Kinktober, Kinktober 2019, Sex in the Dark, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, ruined orgasm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-14 02:23:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21008153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masseylass/pseuds/masseylass
Summary: Nora gives her life to destroy the Institute, and Nick's body is destroyed in the process. Do-gooder Piper takes it upon herself to find Nick a new body, one that looks like a familiar, pre-war cop, which causes all kinds of mixed feelings for Nick. The detective struggles to get back on his feet as a gen-3 synth, and may need Piper's help in fully understanding his body's limitations.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning: mention of suicide. Please don't read this particular work if you're in a bad place, but always feel free to reach out to me if you need an ear.

A pair of whiskey eyes stared at their own reflection in the dome of the memory lounger. The man was confused. Shouldn’t they have been yellow, glowing like radiation? But then he remembered. He remembered it all.

The explosion. The crater. The blood draining from Nora’s painted lips. Her glossy, blue eyes. 

Nick had reached out, but his arm wasn’t there. He groaned and scanned his surroundings: Nora’s corpse straight ahead. His arm hanging from a power line. A couple digits here, a torso there. Nick and Nora were torn to pieces.

She did it, just like she said she would. Nora took down the Institute. The Commonwealth was saved. But not Nora. Nora was gone, and Nick was alive...quite literally alive.

The lounger door whirred open. A familiar reporter stared back at him. She looked like hell. Had she been at his side all night? Her long, raven hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail, and there were dark circles under her eyes. Sometimes she looked that way after pulling an all-nighter. The residents of the Stands wouldn’t have cared whether or not the Publick was on time, but Piper cared. In fact, she cared too much, which is exactly why she was planted firmly at Nick’s side.

“You did it, Nicky,” she smiled. It was a fake smile coated with caution, showing Nick that she cared, but knowing it wasn’t what he wanted.

He didn’t want Nora to die. Hell, she’d been flirting with him for months and the old synth couldn’t work up the gall to reciprocate those feelings even though she was the perfect partner. She was tall with pretty makeup and hair; she liked jazz and starlit walks on the shore; she sacrificed everything to help others. And Nick had squandered it. Squandered her. What was the point of doing what Curie did, transferring his consciousness into a gen-3 body? 

And the kicker? That sly reporter connected with Deacon to get the body in advanced so that she could hand it over to Doc Crocker. After a little digging around BADTFL HQ, Piper acquired a picture of a certain pre-war detective for the doc to work with before the memory swap.

Nick rose from the lounger. How long had it been since he felt shaky like that? Sometimes, he would feel phantom sensations, like pain when he was shot or nausea at the sight of excessive gore, but this was beyond comprehension, far more “real” than he remembered. 

“Easy,” warned Dr. Amari. “It will take time to adapt to this new body, Detective Valentine.”

He wasn’t listening. 

“Nick?” fretted Piper.

The synth left the doctor’s office more mechanically than he ever had when he was made of metal and polymer. He elicited a soft gasp from Irma as he barreled through the lounger room, but ignored her too. Once he was in the restroom, he locked the door, turned around, placed either of his hands on the sink and stared into the cracked mirror.

He looked exactly like the old cop. Brown eyes and hair, with the tiniest, tiniest bit of thinning on either side of his widow’s peak, a hallmark of being biologically forty. He had a strong nose and strong brows, along with a square jaw and cleft chin. There were laugh lines on either side of his thin, cupid lips, not unlike those he had as a prototype. He reached up and touched his jaw, shocked that even his light stubble felt the way it used to.

“Oh my god,” he sighed, voice quavering. He sounded different now, a touch deeper and harsher. Nick wagered people would only recognize him for his voice by his light, Boston accent and old-world colloquialisms. 

Upon further inspection, he realized that his scars – the little cross on his forehead and the cut on his lip he had as a prototype – were still there. Piper asked Doc Crocker to keep them? Why? Some sick tie to Valentine’s former body? Was that supposed to make him feel better?! Well it didn’t! It just reminded him of Nora!

_Crack!_

The mirror shattered. Blood oozed down Nick’s knuckles. He had forgotten about pain, _real_ pain, but the glass shard he had to pull out from in between his fingers and toss on the ground was nothing compared to the pain of grief he felt.

“Oh my god, Nick!” squealed Piper after he exited the restroom. “What happened?” She reached out a hand to touch him.

“Don’t,” he said in that strange, new voice. 

“Nick…”

Emotions. Real emotions. They were more complicated than he remembered. He could swear he still felt them in his former body, but he supposed even those were phantom pains; something he experienced and struggled with, but were never really there. 

“I need to be alone,” he said, and left. Nick headed back toward Diamond City. 

His senses were completely overloaded. The bags of meat hanging from that supermutant hotspot around the corner were far more grizzly than he recalled, and the Commons smelled like shit. He was hot and sweaty, too, thanks to the afternoon sun blaring overhead. And this new body of his – the body of a synth whose memory wipe had gone awry – must have been in a vegetative state for days, weeks. Nick was sore and creaky, and with each step he took he was keenly reminded of the way joints and muscles could ache. He didn’t make it past the Swan’s Pond before he had to stop and catch his breath.

Nick plopped down on the edge of the water and splashed his face, washing away the sweat. He looked into his reflection again. God damn. Nick Valentine: the old world cop. 

He couldn’t believe he agreed to Piper’s suggestion. He didn’t even _want_ a new body. He wanted to die. There was something emasculating and really, truly screwed up about not having the means to end yourself. Any human, ghoul or gen-3 synth could live on their own terms, but Nick couldn’t die as a prototype. At least not in the traditional sense. Sure, he could blow his brains out, but who’s to say he wouldn’t be reassembled again by some try-hard hobbyist? But, truthfully, he didn’t want to let Piper down. She was the closest thing he had to a best friend; they both knew what it was like to fight the good fight in Diamond City, and that brought them together. No. He couldn’t just die like that. He had to at least try for Piper’s sake…and for Nora. 

He was still in his fugue-addled state of mourning when Piper suggested facial reconstruction to look like the old Nick. He hated the idea at first. After all, Nick the synth had tried so hard to separate himself from Nick the cop (as grateful as he was to pre-war Nick.) Nora had told him once that Nick was his own man, that everything he’d built – the agency, and all of his friends – were things that _he_ built. So why did he agree to the reconstruction? 

“Maybe it’ll be less…dysphoric?” explained Piper week ago, when Nick was a disassembled mess. 

The idea grew on him. He still didn’t like it, but at least he’d potentially feel more comfortable with a face and body he recognized than some random synth. But as he stared into the Swan’s Pond at his strong features and weary eyes, he regretted it all. He wished he had risked putting a bullet in his brain, just loading up that chamber and sinking a .44 round right into his – 

“Jesus, Nick!” cried a voice from behind. He gasped and looked over his shoulder. Damn. Even being startled felt intense. His heart was beating so hard he thought his chest would explode. “I know you wanna be alone but you’re in bad shape. I’d rather piss you off than let you get shot up by raiders.”

Nick almost quipped at Piper. Almost. Something like, _you’re all heart, Doll_ or _well, at least I’ve got an entire mug to shoot up.___

_ _Piper reached out her hand. Nick didn’t really have a choice. He took her hand and got back on his feet, albeit a little unsteadily. _ _

_ _“Hey!” wailed Piper, and did that charming, little flail she did whenever she got worked up, like when she talked to Mayor McDonough or found a sealed box of Sugar Bombs. “Were you just splashing your face with water?!”_ _

_ _“What of it?” he answered tiredly._ _

_ _“Nicky, you’ve got skin now.”_ _

_ _He sighed. “Damn it…” He’d forgotten all about the dangers of radiation. No more rubbing away smudges of dirt off with saltwater, or traipsing about the Glowing Sea for kicks. _ _

_ _“Come on, let’s get you back to Diamond City and get you settled in.”_ _

_ _Nick was exhausted. Depressed. But Piper’s smile was as wide and inviting as ever. He didn’t _want_ to want to die, and he knew Nora wouldn’t have wanted him to, either. Maybe, just maybe, Piper could be his saving grace. _ _

_ _“Alright,” he sighed. “But Piper, I’ve gotta confess, this whole mess feels surreal. I’m not sure I’m ready to go back yet.”_ _

_ _“’Kay, but all your coats and ties are there, sooo…”_ _

_ _“Alright, alright. Point taken.” And at that, Nick gave a weary, but genuine smile. The first of many._ _


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six months pass. Nick is doing better, but Piper makes it a habit to check in from time to time.

Nick took a long drag of his cigarette. Six months later and he still couldn’t believe smoking was that good. Or bourbon, for that matter. And his clothes fit him so much better than they used to. Now that he had actual skin, his gray suit and trench coat looked cleaner, sharper. He still had the same, old coat, but collecting new ties had become somewhat of a hobby. A habit, even.

“Well, look at you,” tittered Piper.

Nick glanced up from his case file and smiled. Those laugh lines of his were sure something. “Evenin’,” he greeted. “All finished with the paper?”

“Please,” she snorted, “my work is never finished.” She plopped down next to the detective on the couch, way back in the darkest corner of the Dugout Inn. Vadim was busy playing cards with Hawthorne at the bar, and Yefim’s face was buried behind Piper’s latest edition of the Publick. 

Nick stopped reading them for a while. It was nothing against Piper. But Piper’s first edition after the Institute was destroyed was, of course, about the Institute being destroyed. The entire article was an homage to her best friend – and Nick’s partner – Nora. 

Part of Nick was glad that he never reciprocated those feelings toward the vault-dweller. That would have made things so much worse, and they were unbearable for a long time. He overcame, though, just like he always did. Not that it was easy. 

There was a good month or two where he was drinking daily. He’d go out to Goodneighbor, screw Irma, and get shitfaced with Skinny Malone and his gang. It was that bad. The day Piper stomped into Skinny’s hideout and physically dragged Nick away was the day he stopped overindulging. Besides, Piper had already rescued him from Skinny once before. Twice was enough. Now, Nick was satisfied with his single glass of bourbon on the rocks and his cigarette, which he extinguished.

“So what’s the scoop?”

“Well, rumor was, raiders were sneaking into Bunker Hill at night to loot their food supply. Nobody knew where the raiders were coming from, so I did a little investigating.”

“And?”

“Let’s just say they were pretty small for raiders. About the size of a molerat. Because, you know, they were molerats.”

The detective tittered and finished off his drink in one swallow, setting the glass back down with a clink. The ice shifted. The murmur of patrons and sound of the jukebox swelled in the air.

“So, how are things?”

_Things._ Nick knew what she meant by things. “No offense, Piper, but I’m a little busy with this case.”

“Bet you wouldn’t be so busy if I asked you literally any other question.”

She was right. “Anyone ever tell you you’re persistent?”

“Only every day. Shoot, the last guy I interviewed compared me to a bloodbug.”

“Huh. Maybe he’s confused. One punctures, the other punctuates.”

Piper fell silent for a moment before saying, “Wow, that was terrible. Yeah, I guess I’d better let you get to work on that case.”

“See you around, Piper.”

“You too, Nick!”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Piper pays Nick a visit one lonely, Diamond City night.

Nick opened up to Piper every now and then, but never before bourbon, and never before ten at night. The dark hours of Diamond City seemed to stretch on. Back when he was a prototype, he would spend hours relaxing at night, reading, writing, or just watching the stars. Now that he had a body capable of sleep, he couldn’t, and he found it ironic. His thoughts, his work, or those damned headaches he started getting would keep him awake. So whenever Piper rolled around after dark, he’d oblige.

“How’d it go?” he asked one night.

“Uggghhhh,” groaned Piper, and collapsed into the chair.

Nick leaned back in his own chair on the opposite side of his desk. “That bad, huh?”

“You know who my blind date ended up being?” Nick shrugged. “Vadim.”

Nick seldom laughed – really laughed – but he did just then. “Did you finish the date?”

No response.

“Piper…?”

“Yes…” she moaned, setting her forehead down on the desk in shame. Her head shot up a moment later and she said, “But nothing happened! Nothing like that, anyway. I may be a little, teensy bit tipsy though. I mean, I wasn’t _not_ gonna take advantage of free moonshine.”

“Believe me, I understand. This scotch my last client gave me is complimentary. Well, was.” He poured the last of it into his tumbler.

“Nicky…” warned Piper.

“Don’t worry, doll, those days of drinking with Skinny’s gang are long gone. You saved me from that. And for that, I’m grateful.”

Piper’s cheeks flushed. “Well, okay,” she relented, a big smile on her face. 

Nick leaned back and took a swig of his drink. His tie was undone, hanging around either side of his unbuttoned collar. His hat was set aside, and even his belt buckle was undone. When he realized this, he felt a little embarrassed. It certainly wasn’t uncommon for Piper to hang around, but he didn’t expect company that evening. It would have been weirder to latch his buckle, though, so he let it be and deflected the attention back to the reporter.

“You look nice this evening.”

Piper’s cheeks deepened, now bright red. “I, uh, wow, Nicky. Th-thanks. That’s…nice of you.” She smoothed out her little, black dress and flipped back her hair. She didn’t wear her coat or hat that evening, just her strappy dress and high heels, lips painted like red wine. Nick was surprised when Piper’s smile faded and she said, “I used to wear this color for Blue…”

_Blue._ Even the mention of Nora’s nickname turned Nick’s stomach, another feeling he had to adjust to over time in his gen-3 body. “What do you mean?” he probed.

“I mean, you know, back when we were...well…”

No. Nick did not know. He did not know at all. “You and Nora?” 

“Well, duh. You didn’t know?”

Nick felt a million things. Jealousy that he never got to experience what Piper did; happiness for knowing that they had each other; and then there was something else entirely, something he was completely ashamed to admit, in part because he respected them both and also because Nora was dead. Lust: yet another feeling he had to readapt to. Sometimes it really caught him off guard.

“Uh, no, I didn’t,” he said tactfully and cleared his throat. He went to adjust his tie before realizing he’d left it undone. Stupid. Instead, he let his hand linger awkwardly in the air.

“Waaaait a minute,” said Piper, “were you two…?”

“No,” answered Nick quietly. Now his hands came to fold themselves against his desk. “No, I never got that chance. I’m…I’m happy you did, Piper.”

The reporter looked heartbroken. Her big, hazel eyes were like full moons on her frowning face. “Oh, Nick. I’m so sorry I brought that up just now. I just, sometimes I start talking, and then I start drinking, and then I don’t shut up, and -”

Nick let her ramble as he stood up and walked toward the door. Piper’s sad eyes followed him, still ranting about how stupid she was or how sorry she was or something like that. Nick cracked open the door to the agency and said, “Pipes, I think it’s time for you to go.”

She shut up. Now, she looked even more horrified. 

“Damn it,” muttered Nick, “Look, it’s not you, alright? I’ve just…I’ve got a lot on my mind tonight.”

Before he could stop her, Piper jumped up and flung her arms around Nick’s neck, pulling herself against him into a long, awkward embrace. “I’m sorry, Nicky. I just miss her so much.”

He sighed again and shut the door, knowing damn well Piper needed him. “Me too, doll, me too.” He hesitantly wrapped his arms around her waist. Usually, he let Ellie handle the emotional end of the job, but Piper wasn’t one of his cases. She was a friend. A friend whose hips were pushed right up against his.

Before he could say anything, Piper shivered. “Jesus, it’s freezing in here, isn’t it?” She buried her face into Nick’s chest, nuzzling her cute, red nose against his white shirt. He stirred in his slacks. Maybe she wouldn’t notice. Or, maybe she would pull herself closer which is, of course, precisely what she did. 

Piper giggled. “Do you always pack heat while you work, or are you just happy to see me?”

Well, damn, if that wasn’t the hottest thing he’d heard since he was engaged to Jenny, then he didn’t know what was. Even old Irma at the Memory Den didn’t sound quite that enticing, and she was a gem. But again, this was Piper. This was his friend.

“I can’t.” Said Nick. 

Piper glanced up. “Huh?”

“Piper, I can’t. It’s…” Nick swallowed. He stopped himself mid-sentence, almost attempting to recalibrate himself before remembering that was no longer an option. Instead, he took a deep breath and tried to articulate. “Piper, don’t you doubt for a second that I don’t think you look absolutely breath-taking tonight.” She flushed for a third time. “But you’re someone I truly care about. It all feels too soon.” He placed a strong hand against her cheek, the warmth of the bourbon flowing through his veins, and said, “I’m not saying no to forever, I just need a hot second. Can you do that for me?”

Piper’s eyes were huge. “Uh, Nick?”

“Yeah?”

She gestured down at the sidearm strapped to his thigh. 

Nick’s stomach fell out of his ass, packed its bags, and skipped town. “Oh. You meant…”

“Uh, yeah…I was talking about your gun. Wow, Nicky. Do you…do you really feel that way about me? I just never knew...I mean i-i-it’s not like I haven’t thought about it before…”

Uh oh. What was happening? Did she really think about him like that? He hadn’t really thought of her in that capacity either, but he was now, especially considering they were still awkwardly tangled in each other’s arms. And neither of them were letting go.

Piper swayed. She was obviously drunk. But when she swayed, Nick swayed. That last swallow of scotch really wasn’t doing him any favors. The two stared at one another for a time until Nick asked, “Are you thinking about it right now?”

“Yeah…are you?”

“Matter of fact, I am.”

Piper swallowed hard. “B-but you just said it was too soon, right?”

Without even thinking, Nick replied, “How soon is too soon when you’ve got a beautiful woman in your arms?”

“Not soon enough,” breathed Piper, and their lips clashed like thunder.

It all happened so fast. Nick’s hands against her waist. Her nails on his scalp. Their tongues twisting together like a quick tango. 

He pushed her back onto the desk and she gasped, dress hiked up just enough to reveal her lacy garters and a pair of tight, see-through stockings. She looked like one of those models on _Live and Love,_, hair spilling around her bare shoulders like a waterfall.

He loved the way Piper felt as he explored her, tracing over her thighs, her hips, her middle, her breasts, even her jaw as he pressed soft, urgent kisses along her neck. She tilted back her head and let out a gentle whimper. “Oh, Nick.”

She looked absolutely delectable, stockings and dress tight against her body. Nick moved a hand up her thigh. It disappeared under her dress. Piper glanced down and bit her lip. 

The synth’s fingers grazed a pair of lacy panties. Where she found ones that matched her stockings was anyone’s guess, but they were really doing it for her. He touched her. Piper bit harder and gave a muffled moan. Nick started to rub her, moving up and down against those lovely garments of hers. The reporter sat there and took it, legs spread, looking as beautiful as ever.

Nick started rubbing circles over her underwear. Piper breathed and extended her arms out, knocking the detective’s lamp off the table. It fell to the ground with a crash and the bulb shattered.

“Shit!” cried Piper. 

“Shhh…” hushed Nick, continuing to pleasure her in the darkness of the office. Who needed light when he had everything he needed? The touch of the lace threads, the wetness that seeped through the fabric…it was really turning him on. 

He pressed kisses down her neck and chest, his opposite hand gliding up to one of her breasts. He squeezed, feeling the thick layer of bra beneath it. Piper pulled her arms out of her dress and bra, exposing herself to Nick in the impenetrable darkness. His tongue went straight to work on that nipple of hers, one hand squeezing and the other working her heat until she moaned.

Nick closed his eyes and took it all in. The feel of the lace on his skin. The sounds of papers shuffling under her weight. The noise of wet lust beneath his fingers. Piper’s heavy breaths. The suckling of her soft skin. The clasp of metal as he moved past his buckle to unbutton his pants. The metal zipper. Pants slipping around his ankles. Pistol clattering to the floor. And finally, Piper’s voice: “Take me.”

He pushed urgently inside of her. Irma was great, but Piper? Piper was amazing. Her thighs squeezed and squeezed around his hips. He pressed his dick inside of her, drawing another heavy moan from her throat. It was too dark to see, but he could hear her lean back onto the desk and imagined her hair splayed all around her head, ruby lips parted in bliss.

As Piper sheathed his length, he groaned, and began pumping inside her. His hips slammed against the desk. A couple more things fell off. The ashtray, he was sure, as well as his pack of cigarettes and maybe a paper or two. 

Piper’s noises became more desperate, and so did Nick. It had been a few days, and having his cock buried inside a beautiful lady was more than he could handle. Hell, months had gone by but he still wasn’t used to this new body of his. He wasn’t used to the way he got turned on like that, or how even the slightest touch made him want to come. 

Some days, he would wake up and have to touch himself, not starting work until he was good and spent. Other days it was so unbearable that he traveled all the way to the Memory Den just to get his rocks off. And he could do things he never could before, like lie on his bed and flex and flex until he exploded. So having full access to this beautiful, thick, paragon of femininity was more than his aching cock could handle. 

“Damn it!” he hissed, pulling out – as though he could get her pregnant – and coming right in between her legs, all over those black panties. He reeled back, groaning and rubbing his dick to completion. Another gush of cum landed against the desk, and another on the floor. Nick gave himself a couple of shakes and said, “Sorry…” between hard breaths.

“Oh, that’s, uh…that’s okay…” said Piper.

There was no flashlight. No other lamp. No nothing. Piper just pulled her dress down and said, “Well, that was…unexpected. Guess I’ll see you around, Valentine,” and saw herself out. 

_Valentine?_ Oof. Nick placed his hands on the desk and bent over, head tilted toward the ground. “Great going, jackass,” he said to himself. Well, what happened happened. No point in dwelling now. Better get around to fixing that lamp. 

Nick stood up to do exactly that when he realized where exactly he had just placed his hands. He sighed and wiped them on his shirt. “This body is overrated…”


End file.
